A Series of Unexpected Encounters
by Scribe Teradia
Summary: Harry and Pansy seem to keep bumping into each other. Is it coincidence? Fate? Or is there something else going on?
1. One: A Day at the Zoo

**Disclaimer:** I don't own J.K. Rowling's world, I just like to play with it every now and again.

**Author's Note:** This was originally posted as a series of one-shots. I have removed the individual stories and gathered the entire series together for easier reading, as requested by several reviewers. Apologies to those who reviewed the individual works, the reviews were lost in the move. Cheerleading credit goes to SeraphimeRising and bookaddict19.

**A Series of Unexpected Encounters**

by Scribe Teradia

**One: A Day at the Zoo**

"Dad!"

Pansy stepped to the side to avoid being trampled by the pair of youngsters who were racing toward her, barely making it out of their way in time. Their dark, unruly hair was oddly familiar, but she brushed off the sense of deja vu, since the odds of running into anyone she might know were pretty slim. Why her editor at the Daily Prophet had sent her to cover an event at a Muggle zoo, she had no idea, but jobs didn't exactly grow on trees for former Death Eater sympathizers, and she couldn't afford to lose another one.

"Settle down, boys," said a voice from behind her, and Pansy froze. Eight years, since the events leading to the Dark Lord's downfall, but she'd know that voice anywhere, even though her contact with the Boy Who Lived had been fairly limited.

Her first instinct was to keep walking, to find a different path, to remain aloof. It was followed by the urge to flee, to leave the zoo and come back later, avoiding confrontation altogether. She did neither, finally turning to face the father of the boys who'd tried to run her over. "Hello, Potter."

"I'm sorry?" He blinked at her, from behind the familiar glasses, eyes as green as she remembered, and she felt a slight flash of irritation that he didn't recognize her, though she was careful not to let it show.

"You probably don't remember me," she said, keeping her tone light, congenial, as she extended a hand toward him, the fingernails perfectly manicured and painted a light pink. "Pansy Parkinson. We were at school together."

"Parkinson? Oh, yes, of course, friend of Malfoy's, right?" She felt another flash of annoyance, to be lumped in with Draco, but it was quickly brushed aside the second he took her hand, his fingers warm, rough with callouses.

"Once upon a time, yes. We keep different company, these days." There was a time when she'd hung on his every word, would do anything he asked of her, couldn't bear to spend a moment away from him, back when she was young and foolish and they still had all the time in the world. Once everything was over, the Dark Lord defeated, she was among the first to be left behind, forgotten and orphaned, scrabbling to make a name for herself while Draco enjoyed what was left of the Malfoy fortune and, eventually, Astoria Greengrass. Pansy summoned a thin smile, lifting one shoulder in half a shrug. "Astoria prefers to keep it that way."

"Oh." She could practically see the words processing through his brain, until he finally got the gist of what she meant, and then he grimaced. "I'm sorry."

Before either of them had the chance to say anything else, the boys hauled on his hands, and he made a show of bowing forward under the strain. "Dad! Dad! Can we go see the lions?" The singsong voices brought a hint of a smile to his face, and she realized it was the first she'd seen him smile since she'd said hello.

"All right, all right. Come on, then, you two." He gave her an apologetic look, starting past her. "Can't disappoint the boys, you know."

It wasn't until he was nearly past her that she realized that what she'd thought was a backpack between his shoulderblades was in fact a child, in one of those pouches Muggle women often wore. "I'll walk with you," she heard herself say, turning to walk alongside him. "I was headed this way, anyhow."

They walked in comparitive silence for several minutes, though the boys kept a running commentary of chatter back and forth about the different animals. Harry cracked first, finally saying, "Sorry, but why are you here?"

Pansy sighed, rolling her eyes heavenward before glancing sideways to smile at him. "I'm on assignment." She fished her press badge from her purse and passed it over. "What my editor calls a human-interest piece."

Harry turned the badge over in his hands, studying it carefully, then handed it back. "Muggle correspondent? Is that someone's idea of a joke?"

"Dumbledore would laugh himself sick, I'm sure," Pansy replied, with a faint smile and a shake of her head. "I never really cared about any of that, not the way some of the others in my House did."

"But Malfoy," he began, looking confused.

"Did it ever occur to you, Potter, that I might have had thoughts in my head that _didn't_ come from Draco Malfoy?" Pansy snapped, flashing him a glare and walking faster, catching up to the boys.

Harry caught up with her, sooner than she would have expected, reaching for her shoulder. "I'm sorry," he said, and she didn't have to look at him to know that the apology was a sincere one. Gryffindors made for terrible liars.

"Don't," she said, with a shake of her head, pulling away from him. "Just don't, Potter."

"Pansy." The single word halted her in her tracks, her heart pounding, and she was vaguely aware of the boys farther down the path, pointing at something, though most of her attention was on their father. "I should know better than to pass judgment on someone for who they were friends with in school. Mistakes were made on both sides."

"It's fine," she said, tossing her head and pulling away from him again, walking along the path toward where the boys were pointing at a lion. She glanced back at him, the rust-colored hair of the child on his back, and crossed her arms over her chest. "Do you miss her?" she asked, changing the subject.

Before she'd finished the question, she could see that she'd wounded him, the light going out of his green eyes, his shoulders straightening. "All the time," he finally answered, his voice rough with grief as though Ginny had died yesterday and not two years ago.

Pansy's steps faltered, and she stopped walking, allowing him to catch up before reaching to touch his arm. "Now it's my turn to apologize. That was thoughtless of me, Potter. I'm sorry."

He met her eyes, and something passed between them, unspoken but powerful, registered on a subconscious level and holding them in place. Then the moment was over, and the boys had his attention again, and the conversation turned to more mundane things as they wound their way through the zoo.

When it was over, Pansy couldn't help but think that the day had ended far too soon. "I'm glad I ran into you," she said, as they stood just outside the zoo entrance, the waning light from the setting sun picking out golden highlights in his daughter's red hair.

"So am I," Harry replied, smiling down at her. Not the heart-stoppingly breathtaking smile of a man like Draco Malfoy, but it made her heart skip a beat all the same. "I should probably get these hoodlums back home."

"You do that," Pansy said, smiling down at the boys who reminded her so much of their father. On a whim, she stepped closer, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek, then stepped back and waved. "Goodbye, Potters. I'll see you 'round." Before any of them could say anything (particularly Harry), she slipped into the nearby alleyway and Apparated away.


	2. Two: A Trip to the Grocery

**Two: A Trip to the Grocery**

"Can we get the Thugar Popth, Dad?"

"We'll see," Harry replied, in his best non-commital tone, even though he knew he was probably dooming himself to purchasing the brightly-colored boxes of overly-sugared cereal. Albus was still looking a bit under the weather, though, which meant his father was more prone to caving to his demands. "James, watch where you're going, you're going to-"

*CRASH*

Sigh. "-run into someone." Harry rounded the corner to see what damage his eldest son had caused, the apology already on his lips, "I'm so sorry, are you all right?"

"No harm done." The woman's voice processed before he'd registered the sight of her, but there was no mistaking Pansy Parkinson, not after the chance encounter at the zoo a few weeks back. "Hello, Potter. Boys."

"Hewwo, Mith Pawkinthon," Albus piped up, his lisp slightly more pronounced since his recent illness.

"Sorry, Miss Parkinson," James said, looking genuinely crestfallen for all of two seconds before beaming up at her with a grin. "It was a wicked crash, though, wasn't it?"

Pansy laughed, reaching to ruffle the boy's hair, and Harry noticed that her fingernails were as perfectly manicured as the last time he'd run into her, painted a pale violet color. He cleared his throat, forced a faint smile, and said, "Pansy."

"Well, well, we do seem to keep running into each other in the oddest of places, don't we?" Her smile looked sincere enough, but he had a sense that she wasn't nearly as happy as she seemed to be. "Yes, James, it was a wicked crash, but you should listen to your father and be more careful, what if I'd been someone's old grandma?"

James gave her a confused look, and Harry shook his head, trying not to smile as his son retorted, "But you're not an old gramma, you're a pretty lady!" Albus was bobbing his head up and down, nodding his agreement with his brother's assessment.

"Come along, James, Al, let's leave the pretty lady to her shopping," Harry said, pulling the cart back away from Pansy's.

"It's quite all right, I was headed this way, anyway," Pansy said, gesturing toward the direction Harry was trying to turn his cart. "You don't mind if I walk with you, do you? Or did you turn up such unsavory things in my past that you'd rather not associate with me?" Her tone was flippant and light, but Harry wasn't fooled, detecting a note of something sharper below the surface, something almost akin to grief or regret.

"I'm not going to apologize for that," he said, quietly, without looking at her. The day after running into her at the zoo, he'd run a background check on Pansy, and while he'd tried to maintain some sense of discretion, clearly she'd gotten wind of it somehow.

"No, of course not," she replied, and this time he was certain there was a note of bitterness to her words. "I get it, Potter. Some mistakes a girl just never lives down."

"Is that what it was? A mistake?" The background check had answered quite a few questions for Harry, and generated a whole slew of new ones. He'd vaguely remembered her dating Draco Malfoy, back in school, had little recollection of her beyond being a Slytherin Prefect in their fifth and sixth years at Hogwarts, but then he'd been rather too busy to pay attention to the girl on Malfoy's arm. Her allegiance with the Death Eaters had been relatively short-lived, and she'd been among the first to renounce that allegiance after Voldemort's defeat, but without Malfoy's support (and _there_ was a question he couldn't find any answers to) she'd been left to fend for herself, entirely on her own since both parents were killed in the war. In the eight years since, she'd had a string of dead-end jobs in the wizarding world, most recently with the Daily Prophet as a muggle correspondent, which he still thought was someone's idea of a joke.

She glanced at him, their eyes meeting briefly, and then she looked away and shrugged. "Doesn't seem to have done me any favors, does it?"

"Is that why you're here?" He asked, wondering again why the pureblooded Pansy Parkinson was frequenting a Muggle grocery store.

Pansy looked at him again, her lips curving in a smile that didn't reach her eyes, the bitterness clear for half a second until she blinked it away. "I'm here because it's easier when no one knows me."

"I know what you mean," Harry said, with a nod. Granted, his reception in a wizarding establishment was bound to be different from hers, but he often found it easier to do things in the Muggle world.

"Dad, Thugar Popth!" Albus exclaimed, announcing their imminent arrival to the cereal aisle.

Harry grimaced, looking away from the boxes of cereal sure to send his children into fits of sugar-induced hyperactivity and reaching instead for the first thing that looked even remotely healthy. "What about this Banoffee Crisp? You like toffee, don't you?"

"Ew, Dad, dried bananas are gross!" James exclaimed, wrinkling his nose.

"Thugar Popth!" Albus repeated, shaking his head at both of them. "Pweathe, Daddy?"

Harry looked down into his son's bright green eyes and sighed, resigning himself to the purchase of the coveted cereal. Before he could reach for the box, however, Pansy stepped past him and plucked something else from farther down the shelf. "Personally, I fancy these Honey Loops," she said, her tone light and almost conversational as she glanced over her shoulder at the Potters.

The coy expression, combined with her tone, had Harry's jaw dropping, but the ploy worked, as Albus immediately crowed, "Honey Woopth!"

"Dad, can we?" James asked, practically hopping up and down with anticipation.

"Uhm," Harry began, and was mortified to hear his voice crack. He cleared his throat and nodded before trying again. "Yes, certainly. Grab a box, James, and then we'll swing by the dairy section before heading home."

"I've already been," Pansy said, turning back to wave at the trio. "So it would seem this is where I leave you. Goodbye, boys. Potter. See you 'round."

Harry was left staring after her, though James was quick to bring him out of his stupor, tugging on the cart to try pulling it away from him. With Lily sick and left in the care of Grandma Molly, he'd planned on making just a short trip to the grocery, and the two boys ensured there wasn't much time for him to think about the second chance run-in with an old acquaintance from school.


	3. Three: Jogging in the Rain

**Three: Jogging in the Rain**

Pansy looked out at the rain, frowning. She'd come to the park early for a jog, hoping to beat the weather, but it had caught up with her, so she'd taken shelter under one of the covered picnic areas along the path to wait it out. The weather forecasters, both wizard and Muggle, had called for "light rain in the morning", and so far it was, indeed, light, but the clouds were getting darker, hinting that a true downpour might not be far away.

It was a less than auspicious start to the day, and Pansy sighed, pacing in the small space that wasn't being taken up by the picnic table and benches. Back in school, she'd have balked at anything that might remotely work up a sweat, and certainly none of her old school chums would expect her to have taken up such a mundane habit as jogging. She'd discovered it purely by accident, in the course of the make-up classes she ended up taking to obtain the NEWT-equivalent Muggle Studies credit required by the Daily Prophet. No one had expected her to take the classes at all, much less pass with an Outstanding grade, and in the three years she'd been with the Prophet her editors had come up with any number of assignments she was sure were designed to make her quit.

Thinking of her career reminded her of Potter, and the background check he'd done on her several weeks ago, after their run-in at the zoo. When she'd heard in passing from another reporter that Harry was digging, she'd been surprised and rather disappointed, but she certainly couldn't blame him for having done so. There were still a number of Death Eaters at large, and while she'd never taken that final step to become one of them, her prior association with Draco Malfoy alone was enough to condemn her in the minds of upstanding witches and wizards all over Britain. It had been entirely by chance that she'd run into the Potters at the zoo, and again at the grocery some weeks later, but given Harry's position, both as an Auror and as the Boy-Who-Lived, a certain level of caution was to be expected, especially where his children were concerned.

Still, for a little while at the zoo she'd felt almost like a respectable member of wizarding society, but that evaporated as soon as she learned about the background check. Hogwarts transcript, work history, and the obligatory tracking down of old acquaintances, not that she'd seen any of them since the Dark Lord's defeat. Parting ways with Draco had closed a lot of doors, and she'd inadvertantly closed others on her own without realizing it, by her actions in the days when she'd had Malfoy's favor, been princess to his Slytherin prince, damage done when there hadn't been any consequences on the horizon for cruelty.

A flash of light brought her out of her reverie, and Pansy looked up with a start at the sound of the thunderclap that came almost immediately afterwards. The storm had arrived, much more quickly than she'd expected, and a moment later the skies opened up, the rain pouring down so hard and fast that the world outside the little shelter was lost to view entirely. She sighed and moved to sit on the bench, reviewing her schedule for the day in her head, wondering how long she could afford to wait for the rain to clear before she'd have to get home to get ready for work.

There was a splashing sound, faintly heard above the noise of the downpour, and it was all the warning she had before the curtain of rain parted and someone joined her in the shelter. Drenched and dripping, he shook his head, spraying water everywhere from his hair, and pulled off his glasses, blinking around owlishly. Pansy stared, then cleared her throat, holding out a hand toward him. "I can dry those for you if you'd like, Potter." The entire situation felt more than a little surreal, especially since she'd just been thinking about him, but she resolved to be civil regardless of his reaction.

"Pansy?" His voice cracked, and while he turned toward the sound of her voice she had to wonder just how bad his vision was, with his glasses off.

Plucking the glasses from his hand, she dried them off with her own t-shirt, holding them up to the dim light to make sure they were clear before getting to her feet and reaching up to slide them back into place. "Is that better?"

"It _is_ you," he said, his tone suggesting he hadn't quite been convinced of this until he was able to see her.

"I swear I'm not stalking you." Pansy was careful to keep her tone light, backing away from him and nearly tripping over the bench when she backed into it.

"Awfully strange, us running into each other like this," he remarked, looking thoughtful. "Coincidence?"

"Maybe it's Fate," she retorted, with a toss of her head. She was trying very hard to keep her eyes on his face, but she was keenly aware of the way the water made his clothes cling to his body, defining his form in a way she'd never really considered until that day at the zoo.

"I don't believe in Fate." His voice was quiet, but there was a note of humor in it, enough to suggest that he at least didn't suspect her of having some ulterior motive.

"Coincidence, then." Pansy crossed her arms over her chest, trying desperately to recover the arrogance and self-assurance she was so used to displaying in front of others. "I'm not usually up this early."

"Jogging?" The vague surprise in his voice sparked something of her temper, and her shoulders straightened.

"I like to run. You have a problem with that?"

"No, no, it's not that, it's just... Not what I expected, is all."

The last frayed threads of Pansy's patience snapped, and she stepped back into his personal space, her eyes fixed on his face, on his eyes behind the glasses. "You don't know me, Potter," she hissed at him, her voice just barely audible above the pounding rain coming down on all sides. "Do as many background checks as you like, it still won't tell you anything important about me. I'm not that person any more."

"Pansy." His voice was strained, and part of her wondered why, though mostly she didn't care. "You're right, I don't know you, but that's why I had to check, I had to be sure."

"Just shut up already," Pansy demanded, hooking the front of his t-shirt with her fingers and pulling herself upward, to press her lips to his.

She wasn't sure what she'd intended, by kissing him, and really she'd only planned on a brief kiss, almost platonic, but the moment she made contact any thought of remaining platonic went right out of her head. For a moment, she felt a rush of panic, berating herself for being stupid and expecting him to push her away, demand an explanation or an apology. Then she felt his arm at her back, pulling her closer, his other hand coming up to touch her face, cupping her cheek, and her eyes closed as she let him take over.

His lips were warm and soft against hers, his clothes still so sodden that the moisture transferred to hers, all along her front as she pressed up against him. Her fingers let go of his t-shirt and slid upwards, into his damp hair, her lips parting ever so slightly as she sighed against his mouth, her heart pounding so fast she could barely hear the storm any more. Other men might have taken advantage, pressed for more, but Harry didn't, and in that moment she would have given him anything, done anything he asked of her. A heartbeat, an eternity, all in less than a minute, and when she finally, reluctantly pulled away from him she realized that the reason she could no longer hear the storm was because it was over, the sky already starting to clear.

"Pans-" he began, quietly, but she untangled her fingers from his hair and touched his lips with them, to silence him.

"Don't. Don't say anything. Don't spoil it. Please." Pansy managed a smile, but she didn't really feel it, and she could tell she wasn't fooling him. "Goodbye, Harry." She stepped back, took a quick glance around to make sure there were no Muggles in the immediate vicinity, and a second later had Apparated away.

Back at her flat, Pansy stripped out of her damp jogging clothes and flung them into the pile for washing, cursing herself for her stupidity. Kissing Harry Potter! What _had_ she been thinking? By the time she was showered and dressed for work, she'd resolved to put the incident out of her mind entirely, and her editors would later comment that Miss Parkinson seemed more focused than usual that day.


	4. Four: May 2, 2006

**Four: May 2, 2006**

"Remind me again why I'm here?" Harry muttered, with some degree of irritation, after yet another wizard finished fawning all over him.

"Because none of us would be here if it weren't for you, Harry," Hermione reminded him gently. "I know you don't like the attention, but it's for a good cause."

"I know," he said, sighing and raking his hands through his hair. His friends had long since given up trying to make him look even remotely respectable, although Hermione had hauled both Harry and Ron to Madam Malkin's to be fitted for new dress robes for the occasion.

The annual charity ball to celebrate the anniversary of Voldemort's defeat was an event that someone had thought up a year after the Battle of Hogwarts. No one had bothered to ask Harry's opinion, but then they rarely did about such matters, probably because they knew his response was likely to be something along the lines of, "Bugger off." Instead, they planned around him and expected his attendance, usually involving Hermione to ensure his presence, because he could never tell her "no" and make it stick.

"Cheer up, Harry, at least they've a better band this year, yeah?" This from Ron, and the comment drew a snort of laughter from Harry, who knew full well that his best friend couldn't dance.

"Stop helping, Ronald," Hermione told her husband, giving his arm an affectionate pat. "It _is_ for a good cause, Harry," she repeated.

Harry sighed, rolling his eyes, and took another look around the room, wondering how long he'd be obligated to stay before he could safely make his excuses and head home. The best and brightest of wizarding society always turned up for these events, and he spotted the distinctive white-blond hair of Draco Malfoy among the crowd, which he was fairly certain was Astoria's doing. Mrs. Malfoy rarely missed a chance to appear on her husband's arm, had almost single-handedly restored some semblance of a good name to the Malfoy family, though it had taken her several years and bearing an heir to be accepted among what remained of the pureblooded elite.

Thinking of Malfoy inevitably brought up thoughts of Pansy, not that he needed much of an excuse to think of her since she'd kissed him a few weeks ago. It was almost two months since their chance encounter at the zoo, and she'd been on his mind a great deal since then, though especially these last few weeks. When she'd pulled away from him and disappeared, his first instinct had been to go after her, but he'd reined in that impulse in order to respect her boundaries. He still wasn't sure why she'd kissed him in the first place, or why she'd run, afterwards, it was just too confusing to sort out, though there were nights that he'd lie awake in bed, unable to sleep, and his thoughts would turn to her. Whether she'd meant to or not, Pansy had gotten under his skin, and while he often wondered if he'd see her again, he'd resolved to let her make the next move.

"What is _she_ doing here?" Hermione hissed, the sound breaking through Harry's reverie.

He looked around again, to see who could have possibly irritated his best friend so much by her very presence, and was only a little surprised to see that she was glaring across the room at Pansy. "No idea. Would you excuse me for a moment?" Without waiting for an answer, he extracted his arm from Hermione's grip and headed across the room toward Pansy.

The best and brightest of the wizarding world, the creme de la creme, had turned up in their finest dress robes and glittered with jewels, those who could afford such things. Pansy wore traditional wizarding robes, though she'd left off the hat that often accompanied such garb, her choice of attire almost plain in design. She saw him approaching, of course, his presence in such a gathering meant there was no chance whatsoever of going unnoticed, but she didn't retreat, standing her ground and quirking a brow at him in silent inquiry. "Evening, Potter. Problem?"

"What are you doing here, Pansy?" It was Hermione's question, restated, and he felt slightly ridiculous for asking, but he couldn't say what he wanted to say, not with practically everyone else in the room trying to eavesdrop.

She slipped a hand into one of her pockets, fishing out the press badge he'd seen before, and held it up for his inspection. "I'm on assignment. Apparently the reporter who normally covers these things has come down with something, so they needed a last minute replacement." Her polite smile twisted, slightly, and he could see that flash of bitterness in her eyes, though it was subtle enough that he was pretty sure no one else would notice. "Someone's idea of a joke, maybe."

Harry blew out a sigh, shaking his head. "Sorry. This can't be any fun for you." Surrounded by people who had, to varying degrees, given up on her, abandoned her.

"No more than it is for you," she replied, lifting a shoulder in half a shrug. "I'll manage. I usually do."

Silence hung between them, and the opportunity was there for him to make his escape, back to his friends and the comfort of the life he'd made for himself, to leave her to her own devices. After all, so far as the rest of the wizarding world was concerned, Pansy Parkinson was a person to be scorned, looked down upon, condemned by her own actions while _he_ was, well, Harry Potter. "Can I get you a drink?" he asked, finally, and felt rather satisfied at the collective gasp his words drew from around the room.

Her eyes narrowed with suspicion, her lips pursing into a frown. "Are you sure?" she asked, her voice pitched so low that he barely heard her, and surely no one else did.

"It's just a drink, Pansy," he replied, his tone conversational. Without looking away from her, he lowered his voice, adding, "I know what I'm doing." He'd had eight years to learn the ins and outs of wizarding society and politics, and while he didn't agree with most of it, he knew how to manipulate it to his advantage when he needed to. He offered his arm, in true gentlemanly fashion, and was absurdly pleased when she took it, allowing him to escort her to the bar.

Hermione drifted over to his side, avoiding Pansy entirely and leaning in to hiss at him, in a whisper, "Are you mad? What are you doing?"

"Pansy," Harry said, cheerfully, as if he hadn't heard Hermione's whisper at all, "you remember Hermione Granger, right?"

Pansy gave him a look that suggested she, too, was wondering if he'd lost his mind, then she plastered that trademark fake smile on her face and held a hand out toward Hermione. "Of course. Who could forget the famous Granger? But it's Weasley now, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is." Hermione's answer was spoken through gritted teeth, and her fingers barely brushed Pansy's in acknowledgment, but it was a beginning, Harry felt, even if he wasn't entirely sure what sort of beginning it was.

When he'd asked to get her a drink, Harry had thought the gesture would be all that was needed, to repair some of that tarnished reputation. He hadn't planned on staying beside her, going through the motions of reintroducing her to people she already knew, but once it was set in motion it quickly spun out of his control, and however difficult it was for him, he knew it had to be just as bad (if not worse) for her, and he couldn't just leave her to it. He'd weather the storm of owls in the morning, demands for an explanation for his behavior, for associating with the persona non grata that Pansy had become, but that was preferable to abandoning her to something he'd started in the first place.

Eventually, after what seemed like forever but was really only half an hour, the band started to play, and people started dancing. Pansy excused herself on the pretext of needing to power her nose, which he thought was ridiculous because she wasn't even wearing any makeup, but he didn't argue the point, letting her go. When she still hadn't returned after five minutes, however, he came up with some excuse to leave the gathering and went looking for her.

He found her outside, beneath a cherry tree, looking out into the darkness and hugging herself. "Pansy?"

"You didn't have to do that, Potter," she said, without turning around.

"I know." He stepped closer, reaching for her shoulder to turn her toward him. "I don't have to do this, either," he added, leaning down to kiss her.

Unlike the kiss she'd initiated in the park, this one was more tentative, unsure, because Merlin knew he didn't want to push her into something she didn't want, and he wasn't sure she wanted _him_. Then she leaned against him, into him, and he knew it hadn't just been a fluke, that first kiss, an accident or a coincidence. He wound an arm around her waist, pulling her closer, feeling her heart beating against his chest, his other hand lifting to brush through her hair, soft as silk against his fingers. Her fingertips grazed the side of his neck, and his pulse leapt before picking up speed, that light touch awakening a fire he'd thought had died two years ago.

"_Harry_!" The shrill voice was Hermione's higher-pitched than he'd ever heard it with shock, shattering the warm pleasure-induced daze he'd fallen into.

Pansy's reaction was immediate, pushing at his chest and wrenching herself away from him. He looked at her, stricken, trying to decipher her expression, but someone else called his name, and his head turned automatically, and there was the telltale crack of someone Apparating, and he knew she was gone.

"What were you _doing_?" Hermione demanded, as he turned back toward her, and Harry found himself unable to repress a sudden flash of irritation.

"I was snogging Pansy Parkinson, what did it _look_ like I was doing?" he snapped, stalking back toward the building. The response drew an outburst of questions from all sides, but he held up a hand and walked past them all, collecting his cloak and broom and excusing himself from the gathering altogether.


	5. Five: What Happened Last Night

**Five: What Happened Last Night**

Pansy slammed the door to her flat, drawing her wand and tapping the doorframe to activate the soundproofing she'd spent three paychecks on, after leasing the place. She drew in a breath, tilted her head back, and screamed. It wasn't often she was reduced to screaming to relieve tension, but the last two days had been absolutely awful, and were worth screaming about.

When she'd screamed herself hoarse, she leaned forward against the door, panting, trying to regain control over the emotions that were threatening to overwhelm her. Despite her efforts, a sob escaped her, a single tear working its way down one cheek, and she shoved herself away from the door with such force that she almost fell over.

The little flat wasn't much, but she'd been able to call it home for nearly three years, enough time to add a few personal touches, here and there. She choked back another sob, wiping the tear from her cheek with the back of her hand and reminding herself she needed to get a grip. "Rational thought, Pans," she told herself aloud, straightening her shoulders and lifting her chin before stalking into the bedroom. Leaning against the doorframe, she surveyed the contents, calculating what she would keep and what she would have to pitch. Merlin, but she hated having to move.

Before she had a chance to consider things further, there was a knock at the door. She took a hurried glance in the mirror, swiped a hand across her cheek again, and then went back to release the soundproofing and magical locks before opening it. Her first impulse, upon seeing her visitor, was to close the door again, but instead she lifted her chin and demanded, "What do you want, Potter?"

"Have you been crying?" he asked, stepping toward her. Pansy let go of the door and backed away from him, and he stepped inside and closed the door. "I looked for you at the paper and they told me you'd been sacked. What's going on, Pansy?"

Crossing her arms over her chest, Pansy stopped backing away and stood her ground. "I turned in my article about last night's benefit, who was there and so forth, and my editor said it wasn't good enough, she wanted an exclusive on what it was like to kiss the Boy-Who-Lived." The last three words came out with a bit of a sneer, mostly because she couldn't seriously refer to him as a boy after having kissed him, entirely too aware of just how much he'd grown up. "I told her to sod off, it was nobody else's business, and that was just the excuse she needed to relieve me of my job."

Harry looked rather stunned at this news, and she found the expression rather endearing, then reminded herself not to get caught up in thinking about him. "I'm so sorry, Pansy," he said, after a moment. "This is all my fault, if I hadn't-"

"Don't, Potter," she snapped, cutting him off with a shake of her head. "Don't apologize for that. She's been looking for an excuse to get rid of me since she hired me in the first place, anyway." She sighed, running a hand through her hair and looking around the room before glancing back up at him. "Why are you here?"

"I thought we should talk," he replied, rather awkwardly. "About what happened, last night."

Pansy sighed again, closing her eyes briefly and counting to ten before opening them to look up at him once more. "Right. Of course you do. As it happens, I'm not really in the mood for conversation at the moment, so perhaps we can just skip the chat and go right to goodbye, hm?"

"Are you kicking me out?" he asked, looking surprised, and for just a moment she was tempted to let him stay, to have the discussion he clearly wanted, to get everything out on the table.

The moment passed, however, and she reminded herself that there were other things she needed to be doing. "Do I have to spell it out for you, Potter?" she snapped.

She'd expected the words to wound him, to force him into a retreat, and he did look wounded, though it faded quickly, and she had a half-second to wonder if she'd miscalculated, if he'd seen through her. Then he moved, reaching for her, pulling her into his arms and lowering his head to kiss her. His lips were soft, his arms atronger than she would have suspected, and she could feel his heartbeat where her chest was pressed against him. Pansy let her eyes close, her fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt, and allowed herself the fantasy of imagining a future with him. There was a promise in his kiss, safety in his arms, and there was a part of her that wanted desperately to just surrender to what she felt, accept what he offered. Her mouth parted, against his, and his tongue brushed against hers, short-circuiting her higher brain functions and allowing instinct to take over. She pressed closer against him, sliding her fingers up into the unruly black hair, abandoning herself to the rush of pleasure induced by the low sound he made when her hips moved against his.

After two, maybe three minutes of kissing him, enough to be lightheaded from lack of air, Pansy pulled back, withdrawing her hands and pushing against his chest until he let go of her. She gasped for air, and heard him doing the same, and before he had a chance to say anything else she told him, "I can't do this."

Harry looked confused, and honestly she didn't blame him at all, so it didn't surprise her when he asked, "What? Pansy, what are you talking about?"

"I can't do this, Harry," she repeated, mildly grateful that at least her voice is steady, especially since her heart was still beating madly in her chest. "You should go."

"Pansy, I-"

"Don't." She cut him off shortly, almost ruthlessly.

He raked both hands through his hair, mussing it further, then gave her a look that was sweetly clueless and vulnerable and endearing. "Won't you let me at least try to help? Maybe Luna's father has something at the Quibbler."

"No, Harry." Pansy sighed, then shook her head. "I'm sorry. Really, I am. But I'm tired of trying to make up for past mistakes, tired of living in my own bloody shadow. It's time for a change."

"So that's it, then? You're not even going to give it a chance? Give _us_ a chance?" That he was even referring to them as an 'us' made her heart skip a beat, and she hated having to disappoint him.

Pansy took a deep breath, willing herself to be calm, be steady, at least until she can get him out the door. "Would never have worked, anyway," she said, the lie coming surprisingly easily. "You have a family, a reputation, a prominent position in the Ministry. You don't need the scandal of associating with someone like me, and neither do your children. It's better this way."

"So I'm supposed to do what? Forget you? Like everyone else?" He was angry, and didn't understand, which reminded her all over again why she should never have kissed him in the first place.

"I'm leaving, Harry," she said, drawing her wand and turning away from him, conjuring boxes to start packing things into. He made a low, frustrated sound, and she turned back to him, sighing at his expression. Stepping close to him again, she lifted a hand to touch his cheek, fingers brushing the skin just briefly, sighing again. "Last night, what you did for me," she murmurs, her voice trembling with emotion despite her efforts to hide it, "no one's ever done that before. Stood up for me. _Cared_. I can't stay here, I can't do this to you, you deserve better. Please, don't make this any harder than it already is."

He turned his head, pressing a kiss to her palm, one hand coming up to touch her hair, then her cheek. "It's not fair," he said, but even so he was backing away, toward the door, and she let him.

"When is life ever?"

That much he could understand, and he gave her a rueful smile that twisted the knife she'd driven into her heart. "Will I see you again?"

"Time will tell," she replied, her smile brittle, unable to look away from his hand on the doorknob. "Goodbye, Harry."


	6. Six: About Pansy

**Six: About Pansy**

"Dad?"

Harry looked up from the report he'd brought home for review to find his eldest son standing in the open doorway of his home office. Immediately, he set the papers down and waved the boy in, turning his chair so that James could climb into his lap. "You're supposed to be sleeping," he said, trying to sound stern but unable to really manage it. "Granny Weasley will be cross that you're skipping out on your nap again."

"I'm not sleepy," James replied, shaking his head. He looked up at his father, and Harry felt a momentary pang of grief at the too-serious expression on his son's face. "Dad, what does 'foul, pug-faced pureblooded snob' mean?"

The words came as such a shock that for a moment Harry couldn't breathe, his head swimming with memories of the school days that so often seemed like they'd happened a lifetime ago. "Where did you hear that?" he finally managed to ask, fearing the answer even as part of him wanted to do really bad things to whoever had spoken so in front of his son.

"Auntie Miney," James supplied helpfully. "She said it after Al told her why he likes Honey Loops." The boy paused, then added, "About Miss Parkinson. She doesn't like her, does she?"

"No, she doesn't." Harry sighed, wondering how much he could tell James about Pansy's past. When he and Ginny had first discussed having children, they'd agreed to be as honest as possible with them, and he often found himself surprised by how much they understood, even young Lily. He sighed again, raking both hands through his hair, a nervous habit inherited from the father he'd never known, and looked at James squarely. "Do you remember when we talked about Mr. Malfoy?"

James nodded. "He was mean a long time ago, and worked for the bad man." The boy frowned, then asked, "Did Miss Parkinson work for him, too? Is that why Auntie Miney doesn't like her?"

"Well, not quite," Harry answered. Pansy had left quite the impression on his boys, and he didn't like having to talk about her past. "Miss Parkinson was friends with Mr. Malfoy, back when he was working for Voldemort." All three of his children had been taught not to fear the name, but it was hard for them to pronounce, so Harry allowed them to say 'the bad man' instead. "She was not a nice person, in those days, and she said some things that hurt people."

"Oh." Harry watched his son process the information, his thoughts straying to the dark-haired witch. After losing her job at the Daily Prophet, Pansy had effectively disappeared, leaving her flat in London without a forwarding address. He'd been tempted to track her down, dig further into her life and find out where she'd gone, but every time he started to owl one of his contacts he somehow managed to talk himself out of it. "So how come you like her, if Auntie Miney doesn't?"

"What?" Harry blinked a few times, looking down at his son with some confusion.

"You do like her, don't you, Dad?"

Harry considered the question for a moment, then nodded, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Yes. I do. I didn't know her very well in school, though, not like your Aunt Hermione did. Sometimes people do things, or say things, that are hard to forgive."

"So Miss Parkinson said things to Auntie Miney?" James frowned, and Harry wondered again just how much his son understood as he nodded. "They must have been really bad, if Auntie Miney still hasn't forgiven her. Uncle Ron says things all the time that make her mad, but she forgives /him/."

That drew a laugh from Harry, and he wrapped his arms around the boy and hugged him. "Yes, she does. I think it's different with girls. I don't know everything that was said, but from what I understand Miss Parkinson was very mean to your Aunt Hermione, and to a lot of other people. Following Mr. Malfoy's example, mostly, because she had his protection, back when they were friends."

"Are they not friends any more?"

"No." Harry's smile faded, and he sighed again. "I don't really know what happened, but shortly after Voldemort was defeated, Mr. Malfoy made it clear that he wasn't friends with Miss Parkinson any more. A lot of people, including your Aunt Hermione, have made things very difficult for her, by still being upset with her over things that were said in school." It's the best explanation he can come up with, since his background check didn't turn up any new transgressions of Pansy's. He hugged James again, then bent to kiss his forehead before sitting up again. "Come on, let's get you to your bed before Granny Weasley notices you're gone."

* * *

><p>The next day, Harry stopped by Hermione's office, rapping on the doorframe to get her attention. "Harry!" she exclaimed, looking up from her paperwork with a smile. "What brings you by?"<p>

"Hey, Hermione. Got a minute?" Without waiting for an answer, he stepped inside and closed the door, waiting for the wards and soundproofing to self-activate before advancing on her desk. "We need to talk."

Hermione frowned at him, her expression suddenly wary and thoughtful. "Talk, is it? Or did you just come to yell at me for something?"

"The phrase 'foul, pug-faced pureblooded snob' comes to mind," Harry snapped, with more force than he'd intended. He realized his error when both of her eyebrows shot up.

"James told you?" She paused, and he had the feeling she was gathering her thoughts together, to present him with a rational explanation in that way that she was so very good at.

"It's not as if you swore him to secrecy," he replied, backing his temper off by about three degrees but unwilling to give her the time to present a case that might sway him to her side. "Tell me, why exactly do you hate her so much? Has she done anything to you, said anything?"

"There was Hogwarts," she began, which had Harry rolling his eyes.

"Let it go, Hermione! Hogwarts was _eight years_ ago!"

"She tried to sell you out to Voldemort!" she snapped.

"Voldemort's _dead_!" he shouted back. "Eight years dead," he added, reining his temper back again. "Has she done anything else, anything recently to make you hate her, or are you still hanging on to the image of who she used to be?"

Hermione glared up at him, and for several minutes it was just the two of them staring at each other, until she finally dropped her gaze with a sigh and a very begrudging, "No."

Harry let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding and took a step back to fall into one of the chairs in front of her desk. "Pansy's had a rough go of it since the war, did you know that?" he said, after a moment.

"Pansy? Since when are you calling her Pansy?"

"Since I snogged her at the charity ball," was Harry's prompt reply, though he somehow managed to keep the grin off his face at her expression. "Ran into her at the zoo, the day I took the boys. Was quite the shock, actually, I didn't really remember her from school."

"That's not surprising, you were all obsessed with Malfoy."

"And I was _right_ about Malfoy," Harry pointed out, unable to resist the urge for an 'I told you so' since the opportunity came so rarely.

"I presume you ran the standard background check after that? Chance meeting like that, you can't be too careful," Hermione warned, still frowning.

"Of course I did. Turned up nothing, aside from what I'm guessing you already knew, the association with Malfoy at Hogwarts, the fact that she'd tried to get McGonagall to turn me over to Voldemort, both parents dying during the war. Her association with Malfoy ended with Voldemort's defeat, by the way, and there's a riddle I haven't been able to puzzle out the answer to. Without Malfoy's support, she's had to fend for herself, and it hasn't been easy for her. Did you know she was sacked from the Prophet? For refusing to give them the inside scoop on that kiss, the night of the ball?"

"I don't keep up on the details of Pansy Parkinson's life," Hermione replied primly, tossing her head. "Why are you telling me all of this, anyway?"

"Don't you think it's a bit strange that everyone's turned against her? She's not a bad person, Hermione."

"Are you sure of that?"

"Everyone makes mistakes, Hermione. Even you, even me. Pansy's mistakes were maybe a little worse than ours, but is that any reason to condemn her for the rest of her life? Because that's what everyone else seems to have done." Harry sighed, running his hands through his hair in frustration.

Hermione considered him in silence for a moment, and he let her have the time to collect her thoughts, to put them in order. "You've got that look again," she finally said.

"What look?"

"That 'Harry needs to save the world' look," she informed him, raising an eyebrow. "Is that what this is about? You think she needs saving?"

"No," Harry replied, shaking his head. "Maybe in some ways she does, but that's not what this is about. I just think you should give her a chance, is all, and not be so quick to cast judgment. Let the past go, Hermione." A pause, and then he adds, "And I was wondering if you might be able to look into the Malfoy thing for me. You're working with him, right? Isn't he funding your new project?"

"Technically, but I see more of Astoria than I do her husband," Hermione said, sighing. "I can't promise you anything, Harry. Malfoy's not exactly what you call an open book, after all."

"I know, but you're the only person I can think of who even has a chance of finding something out." Harry stood up, running a hand through his hair again and sighing. "She asked me to let her go, and I tried. I really did. The boys have asked about her, though, and I can't help thinking there's something I'm missing."

Hermione looked up at him, and he could tell she wanted to warn him again, to talk him out of whatever he was planning, to try talking 'sense' into him. She sighed, shaking her head a little and managing a faint smile. "Go on, then. I'll see what I can do."

"You're the best." Harry stepped forward, leaned over her desk, and kissed her forehead. "I'll see you at the Weasley's for Sunday brunch, right?"

"Of course. Take care of yourself, Harry."

Harry nodded, backing toward the door and turning the handle, feeling the soundproofing and wards going down as he did so. "Thanks, Hermione." Then he headed back to his office to start penning some letters.


	7. Seven: About Potter

**Seven: About Potter**

_'P. -_

_We need to talk. I'll be up on Sunday. Don't bother trying to avoid me, we both know I'll find you._

_- M.'_

Pansy glared again at the scrap of parchment taped to the door of the little refrigerator. She was still getting used to such things, to life in the Muggle world, but there were certain advantages to giving up all but the very basics of magic. Her neighbors were quiet enough, her colleagues at the little newspaper didn't regard her with suspicion, and she could walk down the street without fear of someone hurling curses at her. For almost two months, her life had been peaceful and hassle-free, which should have been the first clue that something was bound to happen to screw it all up. She wouldn't have bet on it being Malfoy, though.

A loud crack in her foyer signaled his arrival, followed by a pair of splashing sounds, and then an indignant squawk in a much higher pitch than most people would ever suspect him of uttering. "Pansy!"

She strolled into the foyer and tried not to laugh at the sight of Draco Malfoy, dripping wet with mud in his hair, courtesy of a pair of balloons she'd charmed just for that purpose. He'd always hated to get dirty, even as a child (a fact she used to tease him rather mercilessly about, back when they were friends), and she considered it fair payback for Apparating directly into the house. "Good afternoon, Malfoy. Perhaps next time you'll knock at the door like a civilized person instead of just shredding through my security, hm?"

"Merlin's balls, Pansy, I told you I was coming!" Draco snapped, drawing his wand to cast cleaning and drying charms, clearing away the mud and water.

There was a knock at the door, and Pansy gestured for him to move out of sight, hoping he'd have the sense to be quiet as she went to answer it, opening it just a crack. "Hello, Mrs. Thorne."

"Oh, Pansy, dear, I just heard the most _dreadful_ noise! I'm so glad you're all right, my dear, it sounded as if some poor animal were being tortured in here." Mrs. Thorne was Pansy's landlady, an elderly Muggle woman who had taken an interest in the pretty young tenant in the cottage next door.

"No, no, nothing so serious, Mrs. Thorne, I just had the telly on too loud, is all," Pansy said, shaking her head. "You know how these movies are, sometimes they're so hard to hear so you turn it up and the next thing you know there's someone screaming. My heart's still pounding from the shock, but I'm really all right."

"Well, thank goodness for that, dear. I've got some scones in the oven, would you like me to bring you some around teatime?"

Pansy remained in the doorway, not opening the door any wider than she already had, and smiled, shaking her head. "No, thank you, Mrs. Thorne. I thought I'd take a walk this afternoon - get some air. Perhaps I'll join you tomorrow?"

It took another five minutes of chitchat for the old woman to finally take the hint and leave, and Pansy leaned against the door once it was closed, taking a deep breath to prepare herself for the frustrated Draco she was sure to find when she turned around.

He didn't disappoint her, either, the ire clear on his face as soon as she turned around. "I thought she was never going to leave," he growled, making a quick gesture with his wand to put soundproofing charms in place.

"Why are you here?" she asked, to refrain from repeating herself and pointing out _again_ that he could have shown some manners and knocked on the door.

"You're not going to ask me in to sit down for tea?"

"We're not friends any more," she snapped, annoyed that he could still get to her so easily, even after so much time. "What little courtesy I _might_ have offered was withdrawn when you barged in. I know the wards aren't up to par, even for someone like Goyle, but it doesn't give you the right to trample all over my personal space. You gave up that privilege when you gave up on _me_, remember?" The last word came out at a much higher pitch and volume than she'd started with, and Pansy caught herself before she could blush at her behavior. Curse him for being able to push her buttons without even really trying.

"Feel better?" he asked, after giving her a moment to wind down. He looked completely unruffled by her temper, almost amused, smug, and she wanted to hit him.

"No, I don't feel better. What do you _want_, Draco?"

"Would it really help if you hit me?" he asked, his expression bland and still somewhat smug except for the cold look in those silver-gray eyes.

She took a step back, crossing her arms over her chest protectively. "Stay out of my head," she said, but it fell flat, her tone defensive rather than aggressive as she tried to remember what little she knew of Occlumency.

"I didn't come here to fight with you, Pansy." Draco held his hands up in a gesture of surrender. "Potter's been digging."

All the fight went out of her, and she swayed on her feet. Draco caught her before she could fall, and she found herself absurdly grateful for his strength, even though it was mostly his fault that she'd nearly fainted. He scooped her up and carried her into the living room, and she hated the way her fingers curled in his shirt out of habit. "Why?" she asked, looking up at his face as he set her gingerly on the sofa.

"This may come as a surprise to you, but I don't go trolling for information in Potter's head on a regular basis," he drawled in reply, sitting next to her with that arrogant smirk back in place.

Pansy pushed herself up and swatted his arm. "Prat."

Draco rolled his eyes at her. "At a guess, this has something to do with the infamous snogging the two of you did on the night of the charity ball. The only explanation I have for _that_ is that you were out of your mind. Temporary insanity?"

"None of your business." Pansy tossed her head and glared at him, to no effect. "What's he digging for?"

"What else? The deepest, darkest secrets of your past, otherwise known as what happened between you and I." He waited for that to process before adding, "Granger made the mistake of bringing the subject up to Astoria."

"Granger? Is that why you're here? Stealing time to come see me while Astoria's locked up for hexing a prominent member of the Ministry?"

"On the contrary. Granger's sense of self-preservation kicked in before my darling wife could draw her wand. I thought a visit was in order, though, since I have my suspicions that Potter's the one who set Granger to poking her nose into your business. It's only a matter of time before he comes looking for you."

Pansy swore, which had Draco smirking again. She glared at him, watching his expression change as she said, "You've done a smashing job of leading him right to my doorstep. Bravo, _love_, well done." The endearment came out with a sneer, throwing their shared past into his face, but it still didn't make her feel any better.

"What are you talking about?" Draco protested. "I was careful, no one saw me leave, I made sure of it."

"It never ceases to amaze me how someone so brilliant can be so unbelievably thick sometimes. _Think_, Draco! There's a reason the security was so easy to get through, a reason you don't see all the fancy bits of artifice so common in wizarding homes. This is a _Muggle_ village!" She was shouting again, and she caught herself before she could lose control any further, but the look on his face was priceless.

The apology took him a moment, and was begrudging when it came. "I'm sorry, Pans."

"Don't call me that," she snapped, but the bulk of her anger was gone, and now she was just tired. "We're not friends any more, remember? You don't get to suddenly change your mind, not now, not ever." She sighed, pushing herself to her feet. "You should go. Before Astoria starts wondering where you've run off to."

Draco frowned at her, but to her relief he got up. "About Potter," he began, but for once her glare was enough to silence him.

"I'll deal with it. Thanks for dropping by and ruining my life again, by-the-by," she said, with a prim cheerfulness that was entirely forced. "Let's not do this again, shall we?" The fake smile faded, her expression hardening as she went on, "I can take care of myself, after all. You didn't leave me any other options."

"Pansy, you know why -"

"Get out," she snarled, cutting him off. He gave her a look, and she swore she could feel him prying at her thoughts, which just angered her further. Without another word, he drew his wand, dispelled the soundproofing he'd put up, and vanished with a crack of displaced air.

Pansy counted to ten, twice, trying to regain control of her fractured emotions as she did. Then she sat back down, hugging herself as she started to shake. Harry was digging into her past, looking for what he hadn't found in the background check, secrets only a handful of people had ever been privy to, though some of them were now dead. She wondered, idly, if he'd be able to locate one of the few who remained, if one of them would give her up to the Ministry's Golden Boy.

Draco would take it to his grave, she knew, and while Astoria would certainly sell her out for less than a knut, she didn't know any of the pertinent details; it was one of the many reasons she couldn't even feign civility where Pansy was concerned. Theo or Greg, perhaps, but she wasn't sure Potter would even think of them, it wasn't as if she'd ever been openly close to the rest of the boys in Draco's circle. Zabini was the obvious choice, but that would require him to /find/ Blaise, and Blaise had always been very good at not being found. At least she'd been smart enough not to let the girls of her year know the truth of what happened, none of them would be more forthcoming than 'Parkinson was a bitch,' and she was pretty sure he'd heard plenty of that already.

Shaking herself out of her thoughts, she decided to join Mrs. Thorne for tea after all. Hopefully the landlady's chatter would help take her mind off the dark memories of her past that she'd tried in vain to forget. She would worry about what to do about Potter when he showed up. _If_ he showed up.


	8. Eight: Dropping In

**Eight: Dropping In**

Hovering over the muggle village, Harry looked down to locate an out-of-the-way spot to land, mentally thanking George yet again for the modified broom. Brockhall Village was a quaint, rural place in Lancashire, far removed from the hustle and bustle of London and quite possibly the last place anyone would expect to find a prominent pureblooded witch. Swooping down to land beneath an overgrown willow tree, Harry wondered if the remote location had factored into Pansy's decision to come to this place, though he had to give her credit for staying unnoticed for as long as she had.

Leaning the broom against the trunk of the tree, Harry drew his wand to tap the end briefly, activating the charms that would keep it secure and undetectable until he could reclaim it. He'd gone through several test models with George, each featuring a different improvement, and while broom-making was a trickier process than he'd anticipated (and still didn't fully understand, since George had handled most of the practical aspects of it), the finished product had far exceeded his initial expectations.

It would have been quicker to Apparate, of course, but Harry had never really taken to that method of travel, despite its necessity in much of his daily life. He still enjoyed the freedom of flying, and besides it had given him time to think about what he was doing, though he hadn't managed to come up with a reasonable explanation for it. Nor had he managed to talk himself into turning back, but he'd put this off for too long already.

Stepping out from under the tree, Harry remembered his most recent discussion with Hermione regarding what she referred to as the Parkinson Issue. He almost regretted getting her involved, but the hostile reaction of Astoria Malfoy when questioned had cemented her interest. Pansy's past had become a puzzle, a riddle, a mystery that Hermione couldn't quite crack, and she'd become nearly as obsessed with her digging as he'd been all those years ago with Malfoy. It wasn't at all healthy, but he wasn't in any kind of position to point this out to her, since his own interest in Pansy was borderline obsessive.

After the nearly-violent confrontation with Astoria, Hermione had tracked down several of the other girls in their year, beginning with Astoria's sister Daphne Greengrass and ending with Millicent Bulstrode. They each had their own opinions to offer up about Pansy, but nothing particularly helpful, and none of them knew why Malfoy had turned his back on her, though there was plenty of speculation. It was Millicent who'd first suggested that Hermione look at Draco's circle instead of Pansy's, implying that Pansy had been closer to the boys than the girls and hinting at things that Harry really hoped weren't true.

She'd gone after Goyle first, thinking him the weakest link in the chain, and apparently she wasn't the only one who'd had that thought. He'd been able to give her no useful information, but she'd found trace magics suggesting he'd recently been Obliviated. When she found the same traces around Nott, she'd asked Harry to take a closer look at Malfoy, but for once his former rival was behaving himself. It narrowed the list down to a single suspect, the last person in Draco's old circle of friends that might have some insight into Pansy's past: Blaise Zabini. After a week of fruitless searching for Zabini, Hermione had turned up in Harry's office and delivered her ultimatum that he do something about the Parkinson Issue.

Surveying the village with a wizard's eye, Harry was again struck by how strange it was that Pansy had come all the way out here. Hermione had given him all the pertinent details three days ago (he'd considered asking how she'd acquired them, but decided there were some things best left unknown), but it was one thing to read a report on paper and another to see it firsthand. The village was relentlessly Muggle, most of the buildings dating at least six centuries but not in that quaint way one sees so often in touristy places. It was too far removed from anything remotely significant, which meant that the tall dark stranger walking down the street was the exception rather than the rule. Fortunately, the willow tree where he'd left his broom was far enough from the village outskirts that his cover story should hold up if anyone questioned him.

Harry paused again when he came to the little dead-end track leading to a trio of cottages. Unpaved, one could barely even call it a street, though it was listed as one on the map. The cottage in the middle, he knew, was home to an elderly woman named Elizabeth Thorne who owned all three, renting the other two houses out to those looking to settle for just a short time. It had a low white picket fence, and a sign on the gate read 'Beware of Dog', though the canine in question was one of those annoying yapping terriers that Harry and Ron often insisted weren't actually dogs. Hermione's information had included the name and background of the tenant in the cottage to the left, but his attention focused on the house to the right.

Even prepared as he was, Harry was still surprised to see the house, a tiny, quaint building with old-fashioned gingerbread trim straight out of some muggle fairy tale. It was the type of cottage one could see Red Riding Hood's grandmother in, or perhaps the witch from Hansel and Gretel was a better analogy. In spite of himself, Harry felt his lips curving in a smile at the thought, reminded that even James had pointed out that Pansy was not an old grandmother but a 'pretty lady'.

What he wasn't prepared for was the door suddenly opening, and the dark-haired witch who'd been in his thoughts so much in the last few months stepping out. He watched her lock up, then turn, her jaw dropping just a little when she caught sight of him. "Potter?" she asked, disbelief in her tone. "What are you doing here?"

Harry smiled, his hands lifting in a gesture of surrender, and replied, "I swear I'm not stalking you."


	9. Nine: Pansy's Secret

**Nine: Pansy's Secret**

_"I swear I'm not stalking you."_

Pansy gaped at the man standing outside the gate. She had thought herself prepared to deal with him, had thought she would know what to do if and when he finally showed up, and now that he was here, she realized she'd just been lying to herself. Her _head_ knew precisely what to do; her heart, however, had decided to mutiny. It wasn't fair that a simple smile could undermine weeks of planning and make her knees go weak the way it did, either.

A flicker of movement caught her attention, and Pansy's gaze snapped to the cottage next door, where she knew Mrs. Thorne would be watching the exchange. For her landlady's benefit, she managed a fake smile, letting go of the door handle at last and crossing the tiny yard toward the man at the gate. "This is quite a surprise," she said, feeling somewhat better as her voice came out steady and even. "I'd invite you in, but I was just on my way to work. Perhaps we could schedule something for a different day?"

To her annoyance, Harry didn't budge, just stood there looking down at her. "I'd really rather you didn't run from me again," he said, quietly.

The fake smile faded, and she glared up at him. Part of her was offended at the implication, while part of her was surprised that he had guessed her response so uncannily well. She wasn't used to anyone knowing what she would do, not since Draco... Pansy gave herself a firm mental shake, stepping back to give him room to open the gate. "Fine. But don't be expecting tea and biscuits, Potter." Turning her back on him, she stalked back to the door and unlocked it, shoving it open with more force than was strictly necessary. She knew Mrs. Thorne would have words about that behavior later, but was past caring about what Mrs. Thorne might think.

Harry had followed her inside, and he closed the door with more care than she'd opened it. She heard him mutter something under his breath and smirked; he never had quite gotten the hang of silently casting spells. With a resigned sigh, Pansy squared her shoulders and turned to face him, doing her best to look irritated and bored. "Why are you here?" she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Because _I_ can't do _this_," he said, repeating her words from months ago with a completely different twist to them. He stepped closer, and she resisted the urge to back away from him. "I tried, Pansy, I honestly did. It turns out I don't care about your past, I don't care about whatever scandal you think is lying in wait for you."

Pansy found herself taking that step backward after all, absently wondering yet again how she could possibly have thought she was ready for this. "You deserve better," she said, a hollow note to her voice.

"Maybe," he replied, stepping toward her and closing the distance between them, his expression for once unreadable. "I don't know that you're really qualified to make that decision for me, though. So unless you're planning on trying to scare me off with the deepest and darkest secrets of your past, I'm not going anywhere. I should warn you, though, I'm not easily scared."

It should have been a warning, that tone of his voice, should have had the alarm bells ringing in her head. Instead, she felt an absurdly irrational stab of hope, and it drew another sigh from her. "I'll keep that in mind," she said, the defeat clear in her voice. "Come on, you should sit down for this," she added, turning her back on him again and heading into the living room.

Once in the living room, Pansy remained turned away from him, not wanting to face him just yet. She heard him settle in one of the chairs and took a deep breath, straightening her shoulders. "This goes back well over eight years," she began, slowly, her arms still crossed over her chest. "Hogwarts, seventh year, for those of us that attended school. I'm sure you've heard stories of some of the things that happened that year, Snape as Headmaster, Death Eaters as teachers." She shuddered at the memory, hugging herself tightly and willing her voice to remain steady.

"Yes, we heard." Harry's voice sounded a bit strange, and in spite of herself she turned to look at him. She was surprised to see the tightness in his jaw, the sadness in his eyes, until he continued with, "Ginny sent letters, when she could."

Mentally cursing herself, Pansy swallowed and nodded. "Of course. I should have guessed, but I try not to think about those days. The school was so different, that year, so empty. Those that the Dark Lord's so-called Ministry had managed to force into attendance were a handful compared to the numbers we'd seen in previous years. I hadn't thought anything of it when the term started, of course, but as the year went on Draco showed up less and less often, and that was the first time I noticed that there were students missing." She paused, seeing the confusion on his face, and explained, "I don't just mean the ones who hadn't come back, for whatever reason, we all knew about those. There were others whose absences couldn't be so easily explained, empty places at tables that hadn't been there months ago, weeks ago, even days ago in some cases."

Harry stared at her for a moment, then finally said, "Missing students."

Pansy nodded. "I might not have noticed, except that Draco was spending more and more time at the Manor, and his was another empty place at the table. The only empty place in Slytherin, in fact." Her lips curved in a small, bitter smile as she added, "All of the other missing students were from other Houses, of course, which is why none of us in Slytherin even bothered to pay any attention."

"What happened to them?" he asked, his green eyes wide with horror and what she was fairly certain was sympathy.

"You remember the Carrows?" When he nodded and grimaced, she looked away from him and continued, "We all knew they were using Unforgivables on students who'd earned detention for some flimsy excuse or another." Pansy shuddered again, her arms tightening. "Crucio, mostly. Sometimes Imperio. There were other curses, too, all of us saw them done." Her breath caught, as a too-vivid memory surfaced, her voice quivering as she added, "Most of us were forced to... participate... in the punishment."

When she felt his arms around her, she flinched, not having heard him get up. He pulled her close, one hand stroking her back in what she was sure was supposed to be a soothing gesture. "Is that what you've been keeping from me?" he murmured.

Pansy shook her head, unwrapping her arms from herself and pushing against his chest until he let her go. As much as she wanted to let him comfort her, she knew she couldn't give in to her weaknesses just yet. "It gets worse," she said, unable to look up at him, to see the shock on his face at her words.

"I'm not going anywhere," Harry told her. She wasn't sure if he was being brave or just being stubborn, and she sighed.

"Don't make promises you might not want to keep, Potter." She tried to snap, but she knew she just sounded tired, drained already by the effort of telling him as much as she already had. Taking a deep breath, she finally forced herself to go back to the past. "I tried to find out what I could, without drawing attention to myself. It was easier than it would have been in Dumbledore's day, Slytherins had the run of the school so long as we stayed out of the way of the professors and Filch. At first, I thought I'd imagined it, because no one else seemed to know what I was talking about when I mentioned it, but then I saw the looks they gave each other when they thought I wasn't looking, and I realized nobody was talking to me because I was Pansy Parkinson, Slytherin Princess and Draco Malfoy's girlfriend, among other things."

Harry made a noise at this that brought her gaze back up to his face, and she knew by his expression that he'd heard some of those 'other things' that she'd been called at Hogwarts and since. "The rumor about Greg and I is entirely untrue, that was Millie he was shagging in that broom closet, wearing a bad wig and my shoes," she drawled, mildly amused at watching the horror creep into his eyes, followed swiftly by guilt. Before he could apologize, she waved a hand dismissively. "It's not important. I know what they've said about me, what they still say about me, it's part of why I'm here, remember?"

She took another deep breath, the smirk fading. "Draco was the only one who listened, when he finally came back. He didn't want to, Merlin knows, he had so much else he was dealing with, but he did listen, and he's the one who finally got the boys to do something about it. Theo, Vincent and Greg distracted Filch: it was easy enough to come up with some story of a student doing something they weren't supposed to be doing, and why would Filch suspect them? Blaise got us into Filch's office, he's always been good at that sort of thing, and he stood watch while we went through the records. Better Filch's office than Snape's, after all, and he was vindictive enough to keep track of the sorts of things we were looking for. We found proof..." Her voice trailed off, and Pansy cleared her throat, swallowing before trying again. "Fourteen students had gone into detention with the Carrows... and not come out."

There was no relief in saying the words, the first time in over eight years she'd spoken of what she and Draco had found in Filch's office. Harry's eyes were full of horror and outrage, but his voice was eerily calm when he asked her, "What happened?"

"We don't know." Pansy looked away from him, bowing her head and hugging herself again. "Draco said we should leave it alone, or tell Snape, but I couldn't let it go, I had to know." She tried to block out the memories, unsuccessfully, and her voice quivered with the weight of unshed tears. "I stormed out of Filch's office, I don't think I even knew where I was going until I got to the hallway outside the Dark Arts classroom. Draco and Blaise were trying to stop me, I remember Draco grabbing my hand and thinking I was going to have bruises later, and then we got closer to the classroom and all I could hear was the screaming."

Pansy swayed, reaching out to catch the back of a chair for support. She wanted to stay on her feet, stay standing, and she fought the urge to sit down. "I should have stopped, should have gone with Draco and Blaise to Snape, but I was already too close for my own good, so I opened the door." She shivered, absently rubbing her arm with one hand. "I don't know who it was, who they had, there was so much blood... They were using some sort of severing curse, cutting into the skin, over and over again." Her vision was blurring with tears, and though she tried to blink them away she was still having trouble seeing the room in front of her. "I don't know what I was thinking, trying to stop him, I just ran in..."

The only indication she had that Harry was still there was the low sound he made, and she could tell her was still sitting in the chair across the room. "My foot slipped, in the blood on the floor, and I grabbed his arm to try to keep from falling. I remember his wand was pointed at me, and then there was pain, so much pain I couldn't breathe, and things get a little hazy after that." The words sounded hollow, even to her, inadequate to describe what she had felt, when the spell cut through her. Worse than Crucio, she knew from personal experience, at least when Amycus Carrow had demonstrated the Cruciatus Curse on her she'd been able to scream.

"Blaise and Draco got me out, I don't know how," she continued, after a moment. "The others ran into us on the way, but they weren't taking me to the infirmary, they took me to Snape." She straightened her shoulders, but still didn't look at where she knew he was sitting. "Snape did what he could to put me back together, but it wasn't enough, and I was left with this." Her fingers were numb and cold, but she made herself let go of the chair, pulling the hem of her shirt from where it had been tucked into her trousers, yanking it up over her head before she had a chance to think twice about what she was doing.

"Pansy." Harry's voice was faint, almost strangled-sounding, but she couldn't bring herself to look at him, too afraid of what she was sure she'd see in his face.

Instead, her fingers trailed the line of the scar that began just below her collarbone and ran down the length of her torso. "What's the matter, Harry?" she asked, forcing a lightness she didn't feel into her voice, though it wasn't enough to hide the bitterness. "This is what you wanted to know. What you've been digging for, what no one could tell you. This is why Draco turned his back on me, and why I begged McGonagall to turn you over to the Dark Lord, in those final hours at Hogwarts, because I was too afraid that if it came to a battle the Carrows would kill me in the confusion, the way they killed my parents."

Tears flowed freely down her cheeks, and she heard him get up, tried to steel herself against the sound of him leaving. When she felt his hand on her shoulder she flinched away from him, but he was too persistent, drawing her into his arms and pulling her close, and finally she just gave up and let herself lean against him, her face against his chest, her tears dampening his shirt. For several minutes, he just held her silently, and when her sobs finally started to slow she wondered if he was just trying to figure out how to tell her goodbye.

"It doesn't matter." The words took her completely by surprise, and Pansy pulled back to look up at him, her eyes searching his face.

"What are you talking about?" He was confusing her; she thought she'd had him figured out, but she never would have expected this reaction.

Harry leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead, then her cheek. "I'm talking about us, Pansy. You and me."

She felt that absurdly irrational stab of hope again, and tried to keep it off of her voice, out of her voice. "You still want there to be an us? Even after all of that, even with this?" She tried to gesture at her scar, but he pulled her closer again, and this time she was keenly aware of his hands on the mostly-bare skin of her back.

"It doesn't matter," he repeated, his lips moving against her cheek. "The only thing that matters is you, and how I feel about you."

Hope and relief tried to rush through her, but she shoved them back, her breathing erratic for a moment as she fought for control of herself. "And how... how do you feel about me?" She was afraid, suddenly, of what his answer might be, but there was no way to take the question back once it was spoken.

When he pulled back, just a little, to look down at her, the fear intensified, and her fingers curled in his shirt, as if that would keep him there. "I'm not sure," he replied, quite honestly. "I care about you, of course, and I'd like to think that you care about me, too." his hands moved, stroking her back, and she shivered. "I've never been very good with talking out my feelings, but it's been a long time since I've felt this way. Give it a chance, Pansy. Give _me_ a chance. Please."

Merlin, she wanted to. "Why me?" she finally asked, still not quite able to believe that he was serious.

"Why not you?" he countered, one hand leaving her back to touch her cheek, wiping away the drying tears there. "It's not some Gryffindor hero complex, if that's what you're thinking, I don't fancy myself a knight saving the damsel in distress. It started that day at the zoo, when I saw _you_ and not just a name on a list somewhere, but I knew for sure that day in the park."

"And you don't care that I'm-" she began, only to have him cut her off with a shake of his head.

"Scarred?" Harry rolled his eyes. "We went through a _war_, Pansy. If you think it's moving too fast, if it scares you, we can take it slow, but this is what I want. _You_ are what I want."

She opened her mouth to issue yet another protest, but he silenced her with a kiss, and all her arguments evaporated. It had been months since the last time he'd kissed her, and she could swear the temperature of the room went up several degrees just by the touch of his lips to hers. Her fingers uncurled, her arms lifting, stretching upward until her hands were in his hair, and her body pressed against his. Dimly, she found herself wondering what it would be like to be pressed against him without the barrier of clothing between them, and that thought was still lingering in her head when he broke the kiss to gasp for air.

"If you kiss me like that again," she panted, once she had enough breath back to speak, "I don't think taking things slow will be an option."

His fingers tracked the curve of her cheek, the line of her jaw, and he smiled down at her. "Is that a yes?" he asked, the hope clear on his face and in his voice.

"It's a yes," Pansy agreed, and before she could say another word he was kissing her again. She melted against him, into him, and for the first time in months allowed herself to hope that there could be a future for them. It wouldn't be easy, by any means, but so long as they were both willing to make it work it /could/ work, and that was really all that mattered.

**The End**


End file.
